


Post!SAINW

by bushidobunny



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types, teena - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 08:36:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushidobunny/pseuds/bushidobunny
Summary: This was co-written with hogxsha (via Tumblr). It is the story of a Donatello who never made it back home after his misadventures in the SAINW universe.Tonight, it was better to not be alone.





	Post!SAINW

**Date: Sat, 26 Sep 2035 16:37:13 +0000 [09/26/2035 09:37:13 PM PDT]**

**Identity: April O’Neil <apriloniel03@gmail.com> **  
**To: Donatello Hamato <donatello-technobabble>**  
 **Part(s): Download All Attachments (in .zip file)**  
 **Headers: Show All Headers**  
 **Subject: New message from April O'Neil**

_Hi, Don. How are things? Just checking in. Again. You’re probably not_

_reading this, but twelfth e-mail’s the charm, right? Please drop me a line._

_A good old-fashioned phone call. Shorthand. Morse code. Anything._

_I’m sending over coordinates and the security code for the new base._

_Love, April._

She leant back in her chair, running a hand through her rusty hair that had recently been chopped boyishly short. It kept her from sleep — the uncertainty. She knew where he was and how to find him. And she could have gone looking for him — Dragged him to whatever hovel they were calling home at the time for her own piece of mind. But if the years had taught her anything, it was that things changed like leaves. People died. Nothing was permanent. So, she had to be.

They were still a family. She was adamant. No matter how broken. How small now.

He might show up tonight, she repeated in her head. He’d be alright and in one piece. The base would become a little warmer with an extra body and she wouldn’t have to sleep alone.

She stood, casting one last lingering and hopeful look at the screen she’d left a window with her inbox open on before switching off the light and inputting the new security code; ‘SPLINTER’.

Donatello stared at the rafters which lined the ceiling of his make shift room, a mattress on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. He had insomnia. Again. It seemed like every night was accompanied by the inability to sleep these days, of course the terrapin had found this to be both a blessing and a curse. The long nights had given him plenty of time to develop new weapons and tech and he could not experience the night terrors if he did not sleep.

The night terrors… A frequent and vivid reminder of the Hell that his life had become.

The shinobi let out a heavy sigh and rolled onto his side, bringing his knees up to his chest as he did so. He hated this place. He dreaded every new day. He just wanted to go home.

“If… I can’t find a way back soon…” he thought to himself, his mind wandering to the hand-gun on his weapons belt.

As if on cue, the terrapin was pulled from his reverie when the little screen on his cell phone lit up, filling the dark room with a soft blue glow. Donatello reached out and grabbed the Tphone and punched in his security code, revealing the picture of his family that was his background. The picture seemed to mock him, all of his brothers whole and laughing, hugging their father.

With a sigh he clicked the tiny blinking email icon. The new message was one of many that filled his neglected inbox. Typically, the teen ignored April’s messages, most of them just a reminder to him of the life that he had lost. But not tonight. He needed a reminder that he was not alone. Tonight, the gun seemed like too friendly an option.

**Date: Sat, 26 Sep 2035 16:42:27 +0000 [09/26/2035 09:42:27 PM PDT]**

**Identity: Donatello Hamato**  
**To: April O’Neil**  
**Part(s): Download All Attachments (in .zip file)**  
**Headers: Show All Headers  
** **Subject: FWD: New message from April O’Neil**

_Salutations, April. Apparently the twelfth time is the charm. It has been too long. I am glad you sent this. I need someone tonight. I hope you are still awake._

_-D.H._

The techy turtle finished typing his speedy reply and downloaded the attachment which accompanied the email, entering the directions into his GPS. A sad smile on his face at the new security code.

Quickly Donatello threw on his equipment and prepared to leave his home, setting the wire traps in every conceivable entrance, rigging the place to blow, should any unwelcome guests stop by. He would be damned if the Foot got any more weapons to use against the Rebellion.

Silent as a shadow the purple-clad teen began making his way through the dark and dangerous streets and made his way to the new bunker. Donnie slipped up to the hidden doorway, marked with a discreet rebel symbol and rapped his knuckles against the metal.

She tried to sleep — Tried to force herself. But over the counter medicine didn’t do much more than make her achy and angry, and she always became immune to anything stronger within a month of abusing it. She needed contact. Warmth from something besides blankets she piled on top of her bed like a cocoon she’d often completely disappear underneath to sob and hold her breath until, finally, she was wheezing and the same color as her hair. She needed her family.

She needed him.

Her phone she’d shoved haphazardly onto her nightstand hummed to life and she squinted against the harsh blue light as she mashed buttons frantically, scrambling out of bed. No time for pants. Her slippers and bathrobe would do.

**Date: Sat, 26 Sep 2035 17:39:12 +0000 [09/26/2035 10:39:12 PM PDT]**

**Identity: April O’Neil**  
**To: Donatello Hamato**  
**Part(s): Download All Attachments (in .zip file)**  
**Headers: Show All Headers  
** **Subject: FWD: New message from April O’Neil**

_Use the back entrance. There’s a squadron of bots circling the perimeter._

_Love, April_

Quickening her pace and finally surrendering to a full-on trot and gallop, she reached the back door, gasping for breath and tying the dull, yellow sash about her waist for some semblance of decency.

Opening any of the doors this late was a gamble. The streets were teaming with Karai Legion. She waited, chewing violently at her cuticles, ears primed to pick up on anyone punching in the security code. Pacing, she stood on her bunny slippered toes, peaking out of the small porthole window impatiently.

_Please be alright. Please come home._

The turtle paused for a few moments after his quiet knock, eyes scanning the surrounding area, keen ears trained for any sounds of approaching beings. The rebels probably did not have any guards posted inside the door. With a sigh the genius teen began looking around the door frame to find the hidden pin pad. After a quick search he found a small sheet of metal that could be removed from the wall and was obscuring the rectangle of green buttons.

He reached out a hand to type in the code when the phone on his belt began to buzz. The sound of the small turtle shell shaped device vibrating seemed almost deafening to the alert and on edge shinobi. He fumbled for a moment to get the phone up to his face where he cupped it with his hand to limit the output of light from the screen.

April’s message did nothing to ease the anxiety he felt about being so exposed out here in the open. Karai’s troops had been concentrating on this area of town thinking that the rebels still had a strong hold here. The terrapin threw the phone haphazardly into his bag and turned his attention back to the pin pad

Quick fingers punched in the security code, with a sigh of relief the turtle heard the tumblers begin to shift within the door, a process which took far too long in his opinion. As the mechanisms within the door disengaged the terrapin listened carefully trying to discern any ominous sounds that the wind may carry to him.

The last tumbler slid out of place and Donnie heard the door release, so he quickly replaced the metal sheet and opened the door. The ninja slipped in, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him. He turned on his heel to look down the hallway and was greeted by a familiar face.

April’s hair was disheveled, sticking up in a few places and her robe hung loosely on her form, obviously just thrown on. The woman’s appearance was accentuated by the worn-out bunny slippers on her feet. She looked exhausted. The shinobi was sure that his appearance was no more put together than the human’s. Weeks of little to no sleep or food had begun to take their toll on him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and he had begun to lose a noticeable amount of weight, making his normally lean form seem gaunt and malnourished. To complete the image, the turtle’s arms and plastron were covered in fresh and healing scars, some sustained in battle, others obviously self-inflicted.

Donatello opened his arms to offer the woman a hug and flashed her a wide, gap-toothed grin as he said, as casual a voice as he could manage, “Did I wake you Miss O’Neil?”

She paced violently, chewing at her lip and the inside of her cheek interchangeably. It was a cruel sort of irony; the doors and alarms that protected her every night. Donnie had designed and installed them himself, of course, and when he was away (like he’d been for months now) they only served as mean, cold reminders of his absence.

A piercing beeping, much like an alarm clock, drew her back out of her thoughts; a perimeter breach. Her mind raced. He had no trouble bypassing his own sensors. Either he’d set them off on purpose to let her know he was close, or — She scrambled halfway back down the hall, smacking a hidden compartment in the wall open and retrieving a spare pistol, looping a heavy belt about her waist with spare ammo and homemade smoke bombs; the last of a large batch Mikey had made before — She frowned and carried on, swallowing and pushing the lump in her throat down past her heart that wasn’t doing much more these days than limping.

Another wail of sirens and colored lights along the control panels in the wall told her whatever was outside was practically on her doorstep, and, pushing the safety off with a trembling thumb, she positioned herself flush with the small, but heavy hatch as it hissed and popped open slowly.

She was greeted with an onslaught of low fog; common in this part of the city and during this time of the year. A lithe shadow grew sharper and clearer and she aimed, doing her best to appear intimidating half-dressed and unkempt.

His voice and face cut through the cover all at once and she stood frozen in place for what seemed like minutes.

“Donnie — ” She managed a pathetic whimper, shoving the firearm back into her belt and closing the gap between them like her life depended on it.

Had he always been so tall? So thin? It was like she was meeting him again after years and years apart.

Finally losing the battle, she managed to restrain herself as he closed the door before clawing him into a desperate hold and falling apart against his plastron; cool and smooth against her cheek. There were new nicks and some heavy divots she didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten yet.

She didn’t answer, merely laughing through a patch of loud sniffing and pulling his face down to her level to pepper it with kisses.

Donatello practically melted into the woman’s embrace, fully allowing her to grab either side of his face and fervently plant kisses on every available bit of skin, even gently returning the few that landed on his lips. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, only cringing slightly at the small stabs of pain that the pressure caused on some of the newer wounds on his forearms, enjoying the prickling and painful sensation more than he cared to admit.

He had almost forgotten what it was like to be touched kindly, to be held and to be loved. His heightened senses were practically overwhelmed in that moment, the almost foreign sensation of contact and the scent of the woman pressed against him invaded his senses. April smelled like cough syrup and gun powder, but under the initial smells was the familiar, soft aroma of her skin which brought so many memories back to the terrapin. Memories of a time when his family was whole and happy.

His thoughts and concentration were broken when the loud wailing siren in the hallway caught his attention. His head shot upward, and he grabbed April’s hand, quickly move down the hallway, practically jogging. “I thought I missed the fucking sensors.” He said under his breath as he came level with the control panels he had designed.

His fingers practically flew across the keyboard which was mounted beneath the screens as he entered in his access code and began flipping through all of the security feeds. Crimson eyes were narrowed in concentration and his tongue stuck out between his teeth, a nervous habit he had never been able to rid himself of.

His mind began to race as he scanned each section of the perimeter, guilt setting in as he mentally scolded himself.

You should have just stayed away, Donatello. If you brought danger to April’s doorstep because of your own selfish needs, then you deserve whatever Karai can dish out to you. The gun is far too kind an option for you.

He barely breathed the entire time he scoured the images for any unusual movement. But…

Nothing.

The terrapin let out a heavy sigh of relief and punched in his master code on the security system, his own chipper voice softly played out of a small intercom to the left saying ‘Bam! Security override initiated!’ The voice seemed strange to him, the recording was from about a year and a half ago, when he stayed in this very base with Michelangelo. It was the voice of a Donnie who was confident that together they could stop The Shredder and that he would be home with his family soon. The voice of an optimistic idiot.

The voice that came out of his own mouth was much different. It had taken on a deeper, morose tone. It seemed almost foreign in his throat from lack of use. “I… I guess I must have just been clumsy. My reflexes have not been what they used to be the past few months.”

He turned to face his companion with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, April.”

It had been so long since she’d felt skin like his. A texture that now belonged exclusively to him; pleasantly cool and slightly pebbled. Smoother along the bottom of his extremities and layered and thick nearer his elbows and knees. His plastron; lacquered balsa, troubled her. A few indentations she’d seen before they’d been apart. Long and deep divots; ones that had healed cleanly, but were still glaringly noticeable. The smaller rivers, ones that didn’t have nearly as much force applied and were dragged from the top down tipped her off to a grim reality she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

Self-medicating was dangerous and stupid, and she couldn’t point fingers because she’d done her fair share in the past few months herself.

She planted a last kiss to his cheek. Then his mouth. One that lingered. Halfway a nonsensical apology for the scars that weren’t her fault, but who’s blame she’d take if it made it any easier for him, along with a mixture of something else. Something building and loving.

“You’re so thin.” She ran the course of his two arms with small hands and stopped near his wrist wraps, smoothing the skin there with her thumbs.

“Do you want something to eat? We managed to get our hands on a huge shipment of stuff just the other day.” Karai Legion and their constant patrol made it harder and harder for her and her men to acquire food, but they somehow always pulled through. It had been harder as of late. Without help. Without her boys.

“I haven’t had real butter in months. We even managed to grab pop tarts and cereal and ——- ” Memories of Saturday mornings, cartoons and fighting over channels flooded back and she stopped herself short. She was babbling. It was so hard not to when you went days without doing much more than barking orders and sweating over schematics.

She could relax. At least for tonight. He was here. Safe. Tangible and beautiful, and just as gangly (give or take a few inches he’d grown into) as she remembered. That same funny gap in his teeth and those sweet eyes. She wouldn’t have to make do with the photos on her phone she backed up every week neurotically to cope.

“No. No, Donnie — _Sweetie_ — It’s okay.” Her lip was sore now for how much she’d abused it, but she bit it again in a flux of sheer relief and a thick smoothie of emotions she couldn’t name. She’d had to listen to that recording so often and she suddenly realized he’d never sound like that again.

“It’s just — So good to have you home.” She couldn’t ask him to pretend. She wasn’t sure either of them even could if they tried. But they were faced with a mountain. One they couldn’t climb or ignore. Although, she thought, maybe, they could learn to live next to it. In its shadow, but together.

One hand found its way into his as she coaxed him away from the wall gently.

“Coffee?”

That sounded “normal”. Domestic. It had been a while.

Donatello watched the woman carefully, her eyes began scanning his body, scrutinizing his poor condition. He knew that she was keenly perceptive and that he would be hard pressed to hide his maladaptive coping strategies from her, instead the teen just smiled sadly and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

The terrapin took these moments to acquaint himself once again with the human’s visage. Her lip was slightly swollen, and he could tell it was going to bruise, she had likely nearly chewed it off waiting for him. Crow’s feet had begun to form at the edges of her eyes, which were rimmed with dark circles, just like his. The smell of the potent cough syrup caught his attention once again. The human showed no outward signs of being ill, so he assumed she was likely abusing the substance. While he did not enjoy the thought, he knew that he could not judge her for doing it. Sleep was hard to come by in this place. The turtle had himself used such means and worse to try to conquer insomnia and depression, before he eventually just gave in to its inevitability.

It had only been three months that he had been away, but it seemed as though both of their health, physically and mentally had deteriorated a bit since their last encounter.

Donatello leaned his head into the kiss on his cheek and churred lightly when April’s soft lips tenderly landed on his own, he pressed forward gently, returning the small kiss. When the woman pulled back from him the turtle shook his head declining the offer for food, not wanting to take for himself anything that the rebels may need. With another glance at the security cameras, just in case, Donnie allowed April to turn him away from the wall and begin walking down the hallway with her.

He was about to decline all of her offers, telling her not to trouble herself, but then a word that was like music escaped her lips. “Coffee? You have honest to Darwin coffee?” The turtle stopped mid stride and, grabbing her by the shoulders, turned her to face him. “Real coffee? Not the synthetic crystal bullshit I have been making and drinking for months?” The purple-clad ninja smiled widely, exposing the gap in his teeth before planting a forceful kiss on April’s lips. “If I believed in God, I would swear that you are an angel.”

The palms of his hands nearly swallowed her shoulders and she could feel the raised rivers of scars, fresh and aged, along them. They were cool on her skin, those mapped out years of his teenage curiosity and wrongly crossed wires that had often smoked out his lab and left Mikey and Raph in hysterics. Next to them, the fight against the Shredder and the subsequent years of survival; cheese cloth and leather couldn’t hide them all.

Close to him like this, she suddenly became self-conscious. She had no idea why — he’d seen her sick — naked — but she thought it might have been the fact that the past few months — the past few years, had been more than a little unkind. Her body had never looked better. Rationed food supplies and constant activity made sure of that. Lack of sleep and a drumming worry, however, had taken semi-permanent residence in the bags under her eyes. It bothered her more than she would admit; twenty-four, a violent insomniac, and abusing pharmaceuticals.

Maybe he could help. Create some miracle low dependency, fast acting pain agent. She’d at least sleep better with him under the same roof.

She righted her bath robe, readjusting and clipping the heavy belt off of her bare hips, letting it fall to the floor with a satisfying crack of dense metal.

He kissed her back, shyly and softly, and her heart could have broken before it did a one-eighty and surged at the firm peck he pressed to her mouth. She laughed, still a little high off of the sheer happy adrenaline of having him safe — near — close enough to touch and more than a blinking, blue, and blank screen.

“Good old-fashioned stunt your growth coffee” she confirmed, nodding and grinning unashamedly as they neared the small kitchen; a hole in the wall adjacent a large pantry that was three-quarters stocked.

She motioned to a bar stool at an island fashioned out of various metals and woods, reluctant to let go of his arm, but rearing to indulge her motherly instincts and feed him within an inch of his life. Coffee would do for now. She could have sworn she’d hidden digestives around her somewhere.

She pinched a new filter out of the plastic package, placing it in the top compartment and dolling out a healthy scoop of the black stuff (she could forget about rations for just one night).

She turned, half expecting him to be gone and a figment of her imagination.

A cheap, foraged lightbulb flickered weakly overhead and the weak light danced across the planes of his cheek. She let a heavy, held breath escape her, leaning over the counter and recapturing his hand between her own again, tugging it up so his large knuckles rest against her freckled cheek.

The terrapin joined the woman in laughter as she chuckled against his kiss. It felt good to laugh again. He could not remember the last time he laughed that did not include an explosion in close, very close, proximity to Karai Legion troops.

Donatello raised a brow curiously but said nothing as the human readjusted her bathrobe coyly. This was certainly not the worst state of undress he had seen her. However, the shinobi still averted his eyes respectfully as she shifted the worn cloth to better cover her exposed skin.

When she had righted herself Donnie gently flexed his fingers motioning for her to grasp his hand once again and willingly followed her into the kitchen. He had never really been one for physical affection, always preferring a certain extent of isolation, but now, with his only friend, his only family beside him he found that the thought of not holding on to her pained him profoundly. Realization sunk in about how long he had been alone.

For months on end the shinobi had been moving from place to place, never staying anywhere longer than a week, using every moment of extra time to manufacture new and improved explosives which he frequently set off around the city, trying to weaken Karai’s forces. But it seemed as though every soldier he felled there were two to take their place. Every attack he launched against the Legion he left signs and hints to let the rebels know that it was him who struck the blow. Guilt sprang up in him as he realized that for three months the trail of destruction left in his wake was the only sign that he gave to April that he was still alive. No calls, no letters, just explosions that left purple, red, orange and blue residue.

When they reached the little kitchen, Donnie took the bo off of his back and leaned It against the Island counter as he sat down on the high barstool which April had indicated. He glanced at the staff before turning his attention back to his companion. His brother’s bandannas had replaced the old purple cloth which he used to tie around it’s center. It seemed macabre to him, but he could not think of a better way to keep them close at this point.

As April lifted his hand to her cheek he gently caressed the soft pink flesh there with the pad of his thumb. He cleared his throat trying to chase away the negative thoughts that had begun to creep up on him, wanting to be able to enjoy April’s company tonight. Nonchalantly he said, “My quote-unquote ‘grown coffee’ is essentially espresso flavored methamphetamine. It is definitely effective though.”

The coffee maker hissed and popped from the counter behind her. Come on, you piece of crap. You can do it. It seemed to groan for a moment, and, before she was convinced she was slowly wasting away what was left of her reserve of good karma on a busted coffee pot, it clicked back to life. It was about as slow as it was old now, but it was one of the last vestiges of the old lair she had left. She absolutely refused to throw it out.

Now, with the one person who might have used the decrepit old thing the most in that past life in front of her, the weight of months and years of worry — ugly and double-barbed — began to rot and fall away.

The back of his hand was cool against her cheek; that even sort of temperature that was uniquely them she’d forgotten the feel of. Him, she reminded herself greyly. Just him now.

Letting his arm relax and lowering it to the table, she stole a glance at his bo. Scanning the length and then each colour as if they were the keys of some ugly, out of tune piano. It looked wrong. And it made her realize that this was the closest to together the five of them would ever be again. It made her want to toss the thing into a wood-chipper, but she couldn’t fault him for it. She’d kept their weapons. She often slept in Raph’s ugly, brown, couch-leather jacket. It hurt still. It hurt, and they were both still so raw from it and needed those bandages.

Tracing a long scar along his palm slowly, she jumped as soon as the coffee boiled to a nasally whistle, giddy with the notion of losing herself in something so domestic for once. Maybe she’d put a stew on tomorrow if she could spare the rations and pretend it was Sunday night five years ago.

She stood then, making her way to the cupboard and then shuffling towards the coffee pot with a tear inducing yawn. She remembered how he liked it — black, essentially. Taste buds of tungsten carbide.

“Don. Honey.” An accusatory glare. Seriously? Meth? She was one to talk with her monthly NyQuil quota, and she’d seen him taste test the chemical equivalent of jet fuel in the name of science, but this was — .

The mug in her hand was too hot. She tightened her grip regardless and breathed through her nose, placing it down on the table with a little too much purpose and force.

She breathed hard through her nose and resisted the urge to gaslight him within an inch of his life.

“ ——- Look — It’s going to come up eventually, but let’s put a pin in what you’ve been up to for the past few months. I kind of don’t even want to think about it. Not until tomorrow at least. I just —— .”

Her shoulders pinched, and her chin disappeared into the thick collar of her dressing gown as she crossed her arms.

What was the least embarrassing way to ask someone you hadn’t seen in half a year to cuddle?

The terrapin crossed his arms in front of him, letting them rest on the worn and faded vinyl island counter at which he sat. His russet eyes, whose vibrancy had seemed to dull in the past months, carefully watched his oldest friend as she crossed the kitchen, doling out a healthy dose of black coffee into a chipped purple ceramic mug.

It was strange… How such simple things, such as the sight of a chipped cup or the gurgling sound of a percolating coffee pot could bring back such vivid memories. And it was strange how painful simple memories could be.

Here, with April giving him a chastising look and bringing him a steaming cup of coffee it would have been all too easy to forget that he was not in the lair, that his brothers were not waiting in the other room for them to join in on some board game or movie night… it would have been easy… if it were not for the heavy smell of gunpowder in the air and the dark circles under April’s eyes.

His eyes flicked upward as he was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of the cup hitting the counter in front of him, the coffee within it sloshing unhappily. The sight that met him was his best friend, looking as though she could breathe fire at him for his maladaptive indulgences. Her anger only seemed to last a moment before she confessed that she simply did not want to hear about what he had been up to… not tonight, at least.

The human backed away a step, hugging herself tightly, her lithe form practically enveloped in the thick material of her grungy bathrobe. She had stopped mid-sentence, but she did not really have to speak at all for him to know exactly what she was trying to say. He stood from his spot, quickly closing the space that separated them, wrapping her in a firm embrace, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“We won’t worry about any of it tonight. None of it really matters tonight”

❝ Yeah ––– ❞ She bit back a slowly rising well of tears and allowed them to sting for all of two seconds, letting herself indulge in a few thick sobs into his shoulder before picking her pieces back up the way she’d had to for months now – years.

He’s warm for how thin he looks and the fact he’s somewhere around fifty percent cold-blooded. His arms – no longer a gangly teenage boy’s, but lithe, trim muscle – she remembers all over again. There should be a patch of freckles on his collarbone. A Bunsen burner scar near his elbow. No matter what she disapproved of – what was stupid or dangerous or self-medicating – everything he’d done while he was away had brought him back to her.

❝ Yeah, you’re right. ❞ To be fair, he’s got a pretty stellar track record.

She melts against him gradually, arms tucked into herself and flat against his plastron, right hand’s index finger tracing the top edge of it and a few scars that are news to her. Her cheek lays flat against the cool bone there, and if she concentrates, she’s sure she can hear a steady heartbeat.

❝ ––– Anybody ever tell you you’re a genius? ❞

Donatello placed his hand on April’s back, rubbing small soothing circles against the worn bathrobe which was draped precariously around her shoulders his other hand he held against her cropped and greying hair, holding her close to him as she sobbed onto his shoulder.

While he was out on his own he very seldom thought about how his absence would affect April. His mind was so focused on revenge and self-hate that there was little time left over to ponder the repercussions that his Mad Bomber act would have on the human. How terrifying each night with no contact from him may be for her. The fear that he, too, would be lost to her.

After all, she had lost her family as well. She had seen each of them fall. He was sure that their final cries of pain were branded as deeply in her mind as they were his. She had to feel just as lost and alone as he did here. They needed one another in this abhorrent world. This was all that remained of their family. It was battered and broken. But it was all they had.

He wrapped his arms firmly around her, giving her a tight squeeze before letting out a little chuckle. He reached one hand behind him and snagged his finger around the small handle of his chipped mug, bringing it too into the embrace. “I have heard that once or twice, yes. Though it has been a little while.”

 


End file.
